


Ring the Sky Like a Bell

by EffieAgo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Generation Relationship, Flashbacks, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Past minor character death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21671761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffieAgo/pseuds/EffieAgo
Summary: Vero Andellon served as a Rebellion pilot in the Galactic Civil War, but that was all over now and he wanted nothing more than to live out his life in peace. And that's exactly what he was doing until Oren Barik showed up.
Relationships: Original Idealistic Resistance Pilot/Original Jaded former-Rebellion Pilot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Ring the Sky Like a Bell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassySnowperson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySnowperson/gifts).



> This story starts about a year before The Force Awakens.
> 
> I'm thinking Vero is in his early 50s and Oren in his mid 30s

Vero placed the last of the freshly peeled root vegetables on the plate in front of him and stretched. It had been a quiet day in a succession of quiet days. His region of the planet was in the midst of its annual harvest festival, which meant the main market was shuttered and there was no reason for him to go into town if he couldn’t open his stall. The thought of participating in the various celebrations held no appeal and neither did the HoloNet. The news he used to rely on for a connection to the larger galaxy having become increasingly disturbing. He didn’t need that. What he needed was to live his carefully constructed life as long as possible. Long ago he had looked with derision at people like him. People who clung to their little bubbles of peace, willfully ignoring the reality around them. It was foolish and it might prove untenable, but he’d known the first time he’d seen the holos of soldiers in gleaming white armor and officers with familiar cold eyes that he didn’t have it in him this time. That version of him, the devastatingly young pilot who flew a Y-wing and buried his equally young friends, was as dead as they were. He glanced at the mirror on the wall. His face was creased now, and his hair, which he used to wear in braids, was now kept short. He had some years left in him, though, and he wasn’t going to waste them.

He filled his soup pot with vegetables, chopped herbs and water and had been about to place it on the cooker when he heard it the unmistakable sound of a small ship making a rough landing in the clearing behind his house. Instincts took over and he was running outside with his medkit before his brain had caught up with the situation. He made it out of the copse of trees and ran toward the starfighter. From the look of things, the landing hadn’t been as bad as he feared. The ship itself, an RZ-2 A-wing interceptor, looked to be in okay shape and there was an arm reaching out of the cockpit and then a figure was climbing out. A figure clothed in a bright orange flight suit.

_He landed as close as he could and ran over the rocky surface to where the other Y-wing had crashed. Just the night before, Zallee had gleefully told him, Nej and Leana that the war was as good as over. They’d laughed at her optimism as they played cards and passed a bottle around, but privately he’d agreed. Most of what was left of the Empire was scattered or on the run. Surely things would wrap up soon. Except now he was pulling his best friend from her cockpit, laying her flat on the ground, shouting at her to open her eyes._

Then he was the one on the ground staring up at- his vision blurred, and he blinked several times. No, it wasn’t Zallee, he realized as the helmet came off. The hair was right, wavy and the color of grain before harvest, but the face was wrong, and the voice had a crisp Upper Coruscanti accent. The expression, however, held a familiar blend of fear and concern and he knew, he just _knew_ somehow that he wasn’t faced with an enemy. He reached a hand up toward his comrade because it was imperative that they complete the mission. The Imperial fighters chasing them were sure to be closing in and-

Then the sky came closer until it was almost on top of them and everything was smashed together in a swirl of shapes and sounds. Then he couldn’t see anything at all.

  
***

He opened his eyes and saw the interior of his bedroom. A nightmare then. He sat up and groaned. It had been years since he’d had one that was so detailed. He shuddered at the thought of the face he’d seen. It must have been a figment of his imagination or else someone he’d pushed to the depths of his subconscious. He smelled food as he pushed himself out of bed. Had he really fallen asleep and left something cooking?

“Is that you? You’re awake?” It was the same voice as before. So, not a dream after all. He was finally going mad. Or else… He lurched forward toward the doorway and peered out into the kitchen. There at the bench stood the ghost pilot from the clearing, flight suit half undone, sleeves tied around his waist and a wooden spoon in one hand. On the table was a helmet that bore the familiar symbol as well as a name and a rank.

“Oh, hi.” The man said, suddenly looking less like an apparition now that he had a sheepish smile on his face. He wasn’t as young as Vero had initially thought, but he was young enough, and that familiar blind idealism was there in his wide blue eyes. “My name’s Oren Barik. I’m sorry I barged in here, but you collapsed out there in the field. I was worried.”

“Vero Andellon. And it’s fine.” It was, of course, far from fine. It was mortifying, having to be dragged into one’s own home, but he supposed it was better than being left out in the dirt. How embarrassing, though, to think you were going to rescue someone only for them to have to take care of you. Vero Andellon, valiant Rebel hero no more. He closed his eyes and pushed his bitter thoughts aside. “Thanks for bringing me inside,” he managed, gruffly as he took a good look at his unexpected houseguest. The kid was stronger than he appeared. “You’re Resistance.” It wasn’t a question. “Don’t you have a mission to get back to?”

“Is it that obvious?” The pilot was smiling, like it was all a joke. “I completed my objective, but it was a little hot getting out, so after I lost my pursuers, I thought I’d land here out of the way and hopefully get rid of them for good. My ship’s okay and I’ve reported back to base, so I decided it wouldn’t a big deal if I stayed a while to make sure you were all right before getting back.” The smile faded a bit. “I didn’t know there was a house here or I wouldn’t have landed, I assure you. I don’t want to put anyone in danger.” He paused, as if expecting Vero to say something in response. When there was nothing but an awkward silence, Oren gestured toward the pot on the cooker. “Um, so, I finished making your soup and I think it’s ready if you want some.”

“Sure,” he said as he made eye contact with the interloper for the first time and for some reason the other man’s awkwardness went a long way toward putting Vero at ease. Though he wasn’t sure why a Resistance operative was giving him, a stranger who could easily be an enemy sympathizer, so much information without even being asked. Had he hit his head during the landing or was he just a total idiot?

Within a few minutes Oren was setting down bowls of soup and utensils on the table. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfill your requests, by the way.”

“My what?”

“You don’t remember?” Oren blinked. “Before you passed out you told me quite forcefully to, what was it? Put my helmet back on, go on without you, report back to Chancellor Mothma and to tell someone, uh, can’t remember the name, to use a secure frequency to comm your parents. If you, um, didn’t make it back.” As he spoke, Oren had tapped out each point on the tabletop. Vero had tried to focus on that as the walls of the small kitchen began to press in toward him and he bit the inside of his lower lip and inhaled slowly. No, he’d stay in control. At least this time he was prepared.

“Ah,” he managed, finally. “Well, my parents are as dead as the chancellor, so not much you could do there.” The words hurt to speak. Mon Mothma’s illness and passing had been a blow he was still recovering from. His parents’ deaths were different. It’s not that he didn’t care. He did. The guilt had never really faded, even though he had only become more confident that defecting had been the right choice. But he’d found out after the fact in both cases and when he thought about them, he felt as numb as he had when during that last holocall he had with them. It was as if he still didn’t have the capacity to process it all, even more than 30 years later. He pushed those thoughts away as he tried a spoonful of the soup. It was spicier than he usually made it and Oren had added some greens Vero had been planning to use for a salad, but it wasn’t bad. “They never did speak to me again,” he said aloud before he could stop himself. “And I never felt the need to go back to Grizmallt.” His adopted planet may be simple and undeveloped in comparison, but at least the air was clean and there was plenty of greenery.

“I’m sorry,” the younger man said. He hadn’t so much as picked up his spoon and he looked at Vero with barely concealed eagerness that made him seem much younger than he probably was. “So, Rebellion pilot?”

Vero rolled his eyes but was secretly relieved that the conversation was proving to be a useful distraction. “That obvious, huh?”

“But you haven’t joined the Resistance?”

“No.” Vero hoped he said it firmly enough to put the subject to rest, but he had no such luck.

“Have you thought about-”

“And your parents?” Vero asked, cutting the other man off. There were some questions he wasn’t ready to answer. “They support the New Republic, I suppose?”

“Well, yes. They weren’t exactly keen on me giving up my commission in the fleet to join the Resistance, but I think they understand. I’m just glad they’re safe on Raysho. They moved to be closer to my brother. He’s a senator’s aide.”

“I see.”

Oren was looking at him, clearly curious. “And you? Do you have a family?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just me,” he answered and then continued on quickly, not wanting to take the discussion in that direction either. “Your brother went into politics, but you had no desire to do something like that yourself?” There was a time when Vero had dreamed of becoming a junior legislator, but once his pilot aptitude test results and simulation scores had ended up in the hands of Imperial Academy recruiters, he’d had little choice in the matter.

“No, definitely not.” Oren looked mildly horrified at the thought. “I always wanted to fly. No one else in my family is a pilot, but it didn’t matter. I was happy in the navy and I guess I would have stayed long term if it hadn’t been for-”

“The First Order,” Vero finished for him.

Oren met his gaze and nodded his agreement. “Exactly. I knew what I had to do. In times like these, you have to make a stand, no matter how hard it is.” He tried his soup and then started eating ferociously, speaking between each spoonful. “You can’t just keep going on ignoring reality and sit around doing noth-” Suddenly, the younger pilot stopped short, clearly realizing the implications of what he’d said. “That is- Um, I didn’t mean you.”

Vero glared at him. “Yes, you did.”

“No, well, uh-”

“Go ahead, you can say it,” he spit out, feeling anger swell inside him. Oren frowned, finally starting to look annoyed. Vero knew he shouldn’t goad the other man, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fine!” Oren’s hand tightened around his spoon. “I guess I just want to know what’s so different this time. Why was the galaxy worth saving back then and not now?”

Vero massaged his forehead. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is to me!”

“That’s the problem then, isn’t it? Not everything is black and white.”

Oren let the spoon clatter to the table. “You really don’t think it’s clear this time? That the First Order isn’t a threat? I understand that it’s a risk but it’s worth it! It’s necessary!”

Vero opened and then shut his mouth, struggling to find the right words and feeling a little light-headed. “Of course it is, but-”

“Then what?”

“It’s-” Vero paused and considered if he wanted to keep going. He could end the conversation immediately, but when he glanced up, he saw the stubborn determination in Oren’s green eyes and his anger flared up again. “You want to know the reason, huh? Why I’m here on my farm and not in a cockpit? I joined up as a pilot just after Yavin. Defected right out of the academy with another cadet.”

“Oh.” Oren looked caught off guard. “Yes, I’ve heard that was common back then.”

“It was impulsive, I see that now, but she was like that and I- I would’ve followed her anywhere. I probably still would. Anyway, the two of us barely survived our escape and later I found out that my parents were investigated by the ISB and that their business suffered. They were lucky that their connections meant it stopped there.”

“Ah, that’s-”

“But that’s nothing compared to what happened to Zallee’s father, a widowed factory worker with two children still at home.”

Oren looked away awkwardly.

“Right, it was different then. Most of you were Imperial citizens and I- I know people made big sacrifices.”

“Sacrifices?” Vero raised his brows. “You could say that, yeah. By the Battle of Jakku, I’d lost all my close friends. Well, except Nej, who drank himself to death a few years later.” Vero realized the fire he’d felt coursing through his veins was mostly gone, replaced by a feeling of emptiness. “And now, after all that, I have to face the fact that we didn’t even bring lasting peace to the galaxy! Not even close.”

At least the guilt on Oren’s face looked genuine. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have-”

“So maybe you can understand why I don’t want to go through all that again.”

Oren finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Just go.”

The Resistance pilot looked at him for a moment and then obeyed.

  
***

Six weeks after the incident with his uninvited guest, Vero found himself walking down a darkened street as quickly as he could. It was an evening before a rest day and the weather was mild, but the town centre was nearly deserted. He would find that strange if he hadn’t walked by several of the stormtrooper units patrolling the area. The First Order had yet to set up a permanent base on the planet, but Vero knew it was coming sooner or later.

The quietness was eerie and the light posts and illuminated shop signs didn’t do enough to alleviate the feeling, so Vero picked up his pace. The sooner he got to his speeder, the better.

As he turned a corner, he noticed someone shrink back into the shadows. From the glimpse he got, his first impression told him it wasn’t a wasn’t a denizen of the underworld. It was a peaceful town, after all; there wasn’t a whole lot of that sort of trouble. “You should get a move on,” Vero called out. “There are patrols out.”

“Vero?” The speaker emerged from the shadows. He was wearing civilian clothes and a knit hat that covered most of his wavy blond hair.

“Is that- Oren Barik?”

“Wow, it really is you. Okay, you should get away from me. It’s not safe.”

Vero brought a hand up to tug at his braids, a nervous habit of his youth, before remembering they’d been gone for years. “You’re telling me! You’re going to have one hell of a time getting out of town.” He sighed. Was the universe punishing him for something? All he wanted was a peaceful end of his life. And yet, though there was nothing stopping him from walking away, he knew he wouldn’t. “I’d guess you’re not here on holiday.”

Oren flashed an annoyingly lopsided grin. “You would be correct.”

“You’re trying to get to the fields outside of town? Your ship is there?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. It’s a civilian craft and I don't think anyone will pay much attention to it.”

“Do they know what you look like?”

Oren shook his head. “They probably have my description, but I doubt they’ve seen holos. Seriously, Vero, get out of here.”

“No, I’m coming with you.” The words came out before he’d even realized that he’d made up his mind. “They won’t be looking for two people. Might be enough to throw them off.”

“But-”

“No arguing. We’re going now.” Vero grabbed the younger man’s arm and pulled him forward. To his relief, the pilot had apparently decided to go along with the plan because he stopped protesting. They walked quickly and Vero kept his grip on the Oren’s arm.

They made it a couple of blocks before they heard the approaching patrol. Vero bit back a curse. “Lean on me and act drunk,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Just babble nonsense and stumble a bit.” That must have sunk in because then there was a head on his shoulder and an arm around his waist.

“Hey, stop right there! What are you two doing out at this time?” The stormtrooper who spoke had a pauldron. An officer, then.

“We’re just heading home, sir.” Vero kept his eyes down.

“I’ll need to see some identification.” Shit. Vero pressed his eyes closed and through the horror he couldn’t help but be amused by the thought of being tortured for information about an organization he knew absolutely nothing about. All those times he’d been flung into dangerous situations with valuable intel. All those times that he’d managed to slip through the Empire’s grasp. All of that, and it ended up being its would-be successor who got him. At least he could take some satisfaction in the fact that they’d be doing nothing but wasting their time before they finally let him die. Oren, on the other hand… He wished there was some way to save the younger man, but there wasn’t. They were trapped. He forced his eyes open. _Zallee, tell the others I’ll be joining you soon. A little late, I know, but you better have saved me some whiskey all the same._

“Why couldn't we have stayed in the bar? It’s so cold.” Oren’s words were slurred and as he spoke, he leaned into his companion even more. Vero stiffened in surprise. It didn’t do much to calm his panic, but he decided it couldn’t hurt to try to talk their way out.

“Shush, these soldiers need to see our ident chips.”

Oren just buried his face further. “I’m sorry I caused a scene, but you didn’t hafta to flirt wi’ your ex in front of me.”

Wait, what? He felt his cheeks flush from more than just the temperature as he made a show of trying to reach into Oren’s coat pocket. “Just shut up and give me your-”

“Don’t deny it! She was practically on your lap!” As Oren spoke, Vero heard a snicker from one of the troopers. The younger man tried to pull away and almost collapsed as a result, and Vero was forced to grab hold of him and prop him up.

“That’s not-” But he stopped when Oren shifted and started sobbing into Vero’s shoulder, so he addressed the trooper with the pauldron. “I’m so sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have let him drink so much,” he said, not bothering to try and hide the all too genuine expression fear on his face. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the officer said, the tone of his modulated voice now one of irritated disinterest rather than suspicion. “Go on your way.”

Fueled by relief and adrenaline, they made good time once the troopers were out of sight and managed to get to Oren’s rather beat-up racer without running into any other patrols. “I can’t thank you enough,” the Resistance fighter said as he did a quick check of the ship.

“Nonsense, it was your quick thinking that saved us. Though that’s not exactly what I meant when I said, ‘act drunk.’”

“Hey, I was improvising!”

Vero laughed as he leaned against the hull of the ship. “I’m not complaining. You were convincing, anyway.” That was a little too true, he thought. It was absurd to want to be the actual object of the man’s desire.

Oren who was peering into an open panel, suddenly stopped and turn toward him. “How convincing?”

Could it be? From the way the other was looking at him, the answer was yes. Bitterness cut through Vero’s elation. He couldn’t get any more involved. “I have to get home.”

“Vero, wait-”

He stopped and looked at Oren. “I really need to go.”

The younger pilot considered him for a moment, but this time Vero didn't detect any judgement, just concern and something else. Something hard to pin down. “Yes, all right. Safe travels back.”

He reached out and Vero grabbed his forearm, like he had done so many times with so many others. He recalled the long, agonizing moments before each operation, whether it was a battle or a recon assignment. The teasing and the laughter and the bravado that belied the tension underneath. In so many ways, they had still been kids. “Stay safe, ace. Maybe try and complete an entire mission without needing me to save your ass.”

In an instant, Oren’s expression morphed from surprise into something like understanding. Then he smiled. “Big words for someone I had to drag in from a field.” The comment, which would have stung not long before, only hurt because of what he was forced to remember. Joking around with squadron mates he might not see again. Never knowing what the outcome would be.

“Oren, be careful.” _That_ was not something he remembered saying very often, but he wasn’t young anymore.

“I will,” the other man saluted as he climbed into the cockpit and then paused. “Thank you. I mean it.” Vero watched the departing ship until it was a flickering light that disappeared into the darkness, leaving him alone once again.

***

It was late afternoon and Vero was walking home the back way, through the meadow behind the house. In the month since he’d helped Oren Barik, he often berated himself for not giving the man his comm frequency. It wouldn’t have been safe, of course, but he was starting to care less and less about that. So, when he got to the edge of the clearing and saw an A-wing, his heart leapt. And then promptly froze in his chest when he noticed the trail of blood. It wasn’t a lot, he told himself, but he was shaking by the time he got to the front of the house and saw the figure slumped over his front steps. “Oren!”

He wrapped his arms around the man and was filled with relief when he got a groan and a confused-sounding question in response. “Vero?”

“It’s me. What the hell happened?” The pilot had a wound on his left leg, his face was bruised and his lip split. Mostly he appeared weak and disoriented, but it was clear he hadn’t crashed. The injuries must have happened earlier. “Was this the Order?”

“Ugh, no. I ran afoul of a gang on one of your moons after I met with an informant. I wasn’t sure if I could trust a med centre.” He groaned again as Vero half-carried him into the house. “And I was able to fly myself down here.”

“I see that.” Vero helped Oren onto the bed and began the process of carefully stripping him out of his clothes. “You managed a landing but not a door. Quite impressive," he added with a wink.

Oren laughed and then winced in pain. “Jerk.” Then he closed his eyes as he settled back onto the pillow. “Guess you did have to save me again,” he mumbled.

“Guess I did.”

*** 

Vero did his best with his medkit and the first aid supplies Oren had in his fighter. The injuries were not as bad as he feared, though the blaster wound on the leg was nasty and would need to be looked at by a medical professional. He thought it should heal up well enough with the help of bacta, though there’d always be a scar. Then Oren slept and Vero made arrangements with a clinic in town that he knew would be discreet.

Then Oren woke up and the complaining started. Long range comms had been knocked out on his ship and he was eager to get the data he collected back to his base. 

"You’re not going anywhere.” Vero rolled his eyes as he dug through his old clothes. Had he ever been so reckless and idiotic? He shook his head, deciding he didn’t want an answer to that. “A medical droid is on their way over from town.” Oren’s clothing wasn’t salvageable and while the young man seemed warm enough in one of Vero’s undershirts and wrapped in blankets, he needed something more. Vero stopped rummaging because there it was at the bottom under some old winter coats, a light brown jacket that was wrinkled but otherwise looked pretty good. After all, it had been protected from the elements for nearly 30 years and that seemed to have kept it in decent condition. 

Behind him, Oren was still protesting. “Vero! I’m fine now! I told you, I have to-”

“Relax, I’ll get the message to your general.” Vero’s voice was firm as he sat on the bed, gently shaking the jacket out as he did so. He decided it would probably be an okay fit.

Oren’s jaw snapped shut and he stared for a moment. Then he leaned forward slowly, resting an arm on Vero’s shoulder. “She was your general too.”

“Yes, she was,” he agreed, his voice soft. _She still is_ , supplied an unbidden thought.

“But you’re serious?” Before Vero could reply, the now familiar expression of wry amusement was back on Oren’s face. “Are you sure you remember how to fly a-”

“Finish that sentence and it won’t be the Imps you’ll need to worry about,” Vero countered as he helped Oren put the jacket on.

Then Oren was laughing and this time he didn’t wince, so the painkillers he’d taken were clearly helping. “You sure you’re not going senile?”

“You know what I meant,” he replied with an eyeroll and an amused look in Oren’s direction. “It was obvious from the first holos that those are the same sadistic bastards under the fancy new uniforms.” He laughed at Oren’s expression of surprise. “Hey, I wasn’t oblivious. I just-”

Oren shook his head. “You don’t have to explain.”

“You know, I think I do want to talk about it, but-”

“But right now, you have a mission.” As Oren spoke, he ran his fingers over the rank insignia on the jacket he now wore, but this time Vero couldn’t detect even the tiniest bit of sarcasm. “Lieutenant.”

“That’s right,” Vero replied, sounding more eager than he would have preferred. “But if you’re expecting me to call you ‘sir,’ you’ll be waiting a long time, _Captain_ ,” he added as the injured pilot grinned back at him. He let himself enjoy it for a moment before forcing his attention back to the situation at hand. “Okay, I’ll need coordinates, codes, frequencies and whatever else might convince your friends not to shoot me down.”

Oren pointed to the rucksack Vero had taken from the A-wing and left in the corner. “My datapad should help with that.”

Vero went and grabbed the pack and as he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused. If he went through with this, his plan for his later life would, one way or another, be permanently derailed. For some reason, that only made him more sure of himself. Maybe he wasn’t too old to make a difference. Maybe trying was still worth it. He noticed Oren’s eyes on him and the heat in the Resistance pilot’s expression. The brave young pilot who was wearing the uniform jacket Vero had hidden away, that he’d nearly thrown away so many times over the years. Suddenly he was extremely glad he hadn’t. 

He lowered himself down onto the bed and sat Oren's bag beside him. The younger man adjusted the jacket and leaned closer to Vero until they were only a few inches apart. "So,” Oren asked, “how do I look?"

_The fact that they’d managed to escape still hadn’t quite sunk in as Vero let Zallee pull him through the market. He thought they were probably safe enough on this world, but they needed to move on as soon as possible and they still weren’t sure how to make contact with the Rebel Alliance. He hoped this wouldn’t prove to be a huge mistake. Despite the rational part of his mind telling him that what they were doing was risky beyond measure, he couldn't help but feel excited. This was it, the adventure he'd been wanting since before he could remember. Now here they were, standing at the edge of not just the galaxy but the future, a future that was waiting to be shaped by people like them._

_“Vero, over here! This stall has clothes,” she said, forcing him out of his thoughts. The shopkeeper had no qualms about letting them pick out items from her collection of worn second-hand clothing in exchange for their cadet uniforms, no questions asked. He looked at their reflections in the mismatched array of mirrors. He thought they looked young and strange out of uniform. He ran his hand through his hair, which he kept short to comply with academy regulations. Maybe he would grow it out now that he could. Next to him, Zallee was trying on a blue vest that wouldn’t be out of place on an outlaw in a holodrama. She turned and beamed at him. “How do I look?”_

Vero took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He knew Oren was looking at him. He could do this. They could do this. He opened his eyes. “Like a Rebel.”


End file.
